


long and lost

by shatterthelight



Category: Jane the Virgin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 23:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shatterthelight/pseuds/shatterthelight
Summary: Had there been any clues? Before the murder, before the mental hospital, before it all just shattered – surely there was something she must have missed.Takes place right after Rose’s phone call to Luisa in 1x14.





	long and lost

She doesn’t know what she’s mourning anymore.

Her father, her marriage, Rose, her relationship with her brother, her career.  _Herself_. Everything, everything lays in jagged pieces at her feet. Her father is dead and buried and gone and  _dead_ , and she’s cried her eyes out all day, chest tight, aching to the core, but god, she has been sad for days, weeks, months. There is so little sadness left in her to spend. 

Luisa stares into the empty mini-fridge in her hotel room and wonders what the precise moment was that everything went to shit.

Eventually enough time ticks by for her to realize that no, alcohol is not going to magically manifest if she watches long enough, and yes, Rafael made sure of that, which means he still cares at least a little bit, and no, that doesn’t mean he’s going to walk through the door and ask her if she’s okay.

Her phone vibrates, startling her, and she quickly slams the mini-fridge shut as if she’s been caught. She grabs her phone off the table, looks at the screen, and it’s not Rose. It’s not Rose.

_You told me once that you wanted to run away with me. Do you still?_

No. 

The person calling her is, weirdly enough, Petra. She doesn’t have the energy to answer, so she tosses her phone onto the bed and says, outloud, “It’s not Rose."  

The rational part of her brain knows that Rose isn’t going to call again. When Luisa hung up, that was it. The end. It’s over. And that’s a good thing.

But the rational part of her brain can’t do anything to silence that corner of her heart screaming  _call back call back call back call back call back call back call back call back._  

Her black funeral dress feels and looks completely out of place in this bright ass yellow fucking hotel room. She doesn’t want black, and she doesn’t want yellow; it’s all suffocating. Next thing Luisa knows, she’s yanking the dress off over her head and dropping the crumpled ball of it in the corner of the room.

Between shaky breaths, she pulls on the only t-shirt she’d brought with her; she doesn’t have anything else, so she throws a robe on over it and steps out of her room.

Enough has happened in the halls of this hotel that nobody even gives a second glance to the sad woman in the robe drifting out of the elevator and into the lobby.

The pool is closed because it’s technically still considered a crime scene, but no one is watching and she just doesn’t care anymore. When she undoes the robe and lets it drop to her feet, she doesn’t feel a thing.

The water is chilly enough to make her shiver, but warm enough to catapult her directly into the past. Holding her breath and closing her eyes, Luisa lowers her head beneath the surface.

What her heart is really saying is  _rewind rewind rewind rewind rewind._

Had there been any clues? Before the murder, before the mental hospital, before it all just  _shattered –_  surely there was something she must have missed.

It tears through her head like a twister, yanking everything she ever understood up by its foundation, throwing all the shrapnel around like sand in the wind.  _Surely there was something she must have missed_.

She comes up for air with a gasp that turns into a choking almost-but-not-quite-sob, because how did life turn into this, how did it all turn into this, how did all the time she spent trying to mend her remains into something whole and functioning and happy turn into  _this_ , and how does she press rewind?

She wants, more than anything, to press rewind, because – because she doesn’t know where she’s supposed to go from here. Everything broke with the suddenness and violence and flying glass of a car crash, but it all feels about as real and tangible as a foggy dream, the kind you forget about the moment you wake up.

Moving on autopilot, Luisa slips her shirt off, tosses it onto the nearest ledge, and savors the feeling that follows. It isn’t safe or warm or happy… just familiar. She floats on her back in the water, in the arms of that familiarity, and stares up at a night sky without fireworks. 


End file.
